


1, 2, 3, 4, I Declare a Thumb War

by vantas



Series: ficlets [1]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Implied Relationships, Prompt Fic, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:03:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vantas/pseuds/vantas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaneki's startled gasp should have been her first hint that something had gone horrifically wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1, 2, 3, 4, I Declare a Thumb War

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by [kirishwarma](http://kirishwarma.tumblr.com/) with the prompt: " _You just watched me slip on the ice and wind up sitting in the snowbank beside the parking lot. You’re laughing and now it’s you slipping and your face in the snowbank across from me._ "
> 
> This is, uh. Not quite it. But here we go, anyway.

It happens so quickly, she barely registers anything until she's on her haunches, and there is snow soaking through her shorts and leggings.

(Though, really. Being honest — Kaneki's startled gasp _should_ have been her first hint that something had gone horrifically wrong.

But it wasn't.

Shit.)

For a moment, she does nothing but sit there. Her ass is cold, _that much she notices,_ but everything else comes to her gradually. For example, it takes her a good couple of seconds before she notices the broken paper bag next to her. Then, it takes her half a minute before her eyes locate the canisters of coffee she had been carrying, now covered in snow after having rolled away a good couple of feet. They're made of aluminum, so she supposes the contents should be fine, but. _Well_. The fact that she, apparently, tripped and fell flat on her ass doesn't bother her as much as what accompanies it.

Then again, little else bothers her as much as the stupid look on her shitty co-worker's face.

Damn it.

"Are— Are you alright, Touka-chan?" Kaneki asks, hovering over her like some sort of concerned mother hen. It's very degrading. "Do you need help getting up?"

She considers this for all of two seconds. "No," she decides, "I can get up myself."

"... Are you sure?" he responds, hesitantly. "You could fall... again."

"I'm _sure_ ," she hisses through her teeth, digging her nails into the ground and making an attempt at hauling herself to her feet. So far, no dice. "So, shut up, dumbass. It's annoying."

Well, that gets him to shut up, but the look on his face makes it pretty clear that he's not convinced. Whatever. Like she cares what he thinks. She's not a stupid toddler that can't even manage to get up to her feet. She doesn't need him staring at her, like he's torn between believing her or ignoring her request and lending her a hand anyway. It makes her feel pathetic.

So, she puts an end to it.

"If you're just going to gawk," she begins, carefully pushing herself up. "Then make yourself useful and grab the coffee."

The frown is _still_ on his face, but he nods. Which, really, is just as well, because she's not exactly known for her patience.

In any case, she ignores him once he goes to retrieve the canisters, focusing more on the matter at hand. She's starting to think she might get frostbite now, which sounds fantastic, but not as fantastic as her thoroughly wounded pride. _Well_ , maybe she could pretend this never happened. Maybe not. Or, maybe, she needs to stop thinking about this crap and get to her feet.

That sounds like a plan.

A plan that, of course, takes her a couple of seconds before she's able to execute it. Her hands are numb from the cold, and her tights are irredeemably soaked, but there's not much she can do about that before returning to Anteiku. For now, she'll just have to pretend it's on purpose. A statement, maybe, if she really wants to stretch things.

_Whatever_. She turns around, her mouth already open to tell Kaneki that they're ready to go — and finds her co-worker flat on his chest, coughing and spitting out the snow she assumes he just swallowed.

Huh.

She saunters over to him, stares for a second or so, and then bends over to pick up the items he had failed to retrieve. Once she's tucked them under her arms, she exhales through her nose.

"We're running late," she says, and then she turns on her heel, not quite paying attention when he begins to sputter and call after her.

Nobody ever said she wasn't petty.


End file.
